Secrets
by Rhianna-Aurora
Summary: Five times Marian should have said something more to Fenris  but didn't , and one time that she did.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Yes, this is one of those damned "Five Times This Didn't Happen and One Time it Did" fics, but I hope you'll forgive me for using the format. I'm OTP'ing Fem!Hawke/Fenris _so hard_ right now, this fic is basically writing itself while I'm just trying to live my life. XD I hope you all enjoy this first part, and the parts that will follow. **

**Spoilers only through Act 1 in this part. If you've met Fenris and have spoken to him once at his home, this won't spoil anything for you. (And yes, I've veered just a bit from the way the scene plays out in the game, for narrative purposes.)**

_**I.**_

It was a hot night, and she was unable to fall asleep in that stifling, cramped shack, so she'd crept to the corner where her mabari rested, and quietly asked him if he fancied a bit of a walk. He'd been so ecstatic, she'd barely gotten him outside before he could wake the rest of the family. The poor dog was always cooped up in that dreadful hovel, it was no wonder.

At first, she just wandered a bit aimlessly, the mabari running ahead to explore all the nooks and crannies of the city's slums. She considered stopping by the Hanged Man for a chat with Varric, or to see what Isabela was up to, but her hound seemed far too happy to be _outside_. So she opted to keep walking, thinking she might go to Darktown to keep Anders company while he worked late into the night, healing the poorest and most infirm of Kirkwall's citizens.

She wasn't really aware that they were crossing the bridge that led to Hightown until she was staring at the stately columns and sprawling mansions all covered in creeping ivy. The smell of some night-blooming flower filled her nostrils and she closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a long moment before taking in the grandeur before her. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. _This _was where her mother belonged, where she should have been able to return when they had docked here, over a year ago.

She shook her head, annoyed with herself. It had been a stupid idea, coming here. She didn't even know why she _had_. Maybe it was the Amell blood in her, leading her home.

Her eyes flitted across the courtyard then, to one of the estates. Until very recently, it had been abandoned. She could see flickering light in one of the second-floor windows - the fireplace was lit. Whether or not that meant he was still awake, she had no idea.

She didn't know why she was even bothering to wonder. They weren't _friends_, not even _kind of_. He'd called Bethany an "it" the first time they'd met, and they'd all but gotten into a screaming match in this very courtyard about mages right then and there. Well, all right, _she_ had screamed. He had just responded with cold, calm insolence. _Which was just as bad_, if you asked her, maybe even worse. His surliness since then had failed to do much to raise her estimation of him.

But Varric had insisted that his help might be useful for the expedition - much to the chagrin of Anders. Bethany, surprisingly, didn't seem to think too poorly of the elf at all. They weren't _friends _by any stretch, but they seemed to coexist quite peacefully. In spite of her _own_ misgivings about him, she trusted Varric implicitly,

so she'd allowed him to bring the elf along on some of the more dangerous odd jobs they acquired, knowing full well that one more sword arm was never a _bad_ idea.

Marian herself had never _really_ spoken to him, not since the night they'd met. Funny how she hadn't felt particularly moved to get to know the elf who'd looked at her sister as though she were a monster. It didn't matter that Bethany had seemed to forgive and forget. As far as Marian was concerned, a slight against her family was a slight against _her_, personally. And he had never seemed all that thrilled at the prospect of speaking to her - "mage-lover" that she was - so she'd decided that it was probably best if they just kept to themselves as much as possible.

Still, she _had_ wondered about him, about the way he always seemed to be on the alert, the way he was constantly looking over his shoulder, no matter _where_ they were. There was a sadness about him, too, the way he carried himself - hunched over, never standing at his full height. She was _sure _he had a story to tell. She would just not be the one to hear it.

She whistled for her dog then, ready to head back to Lowtown and the filthy hovel she now called home.

It wasn't her mabari who came around the corner then, however. It was a group of six men - six _armed_ men. Fantastic. She started to reach for the daggers at her back, but realized it was futile. She might be a good fighter, but there was no way she and her dog - wherever he was - could get out of this fight without serious injury. Taking a deep breath, she thought she might try talking her way past this particular group - surely they couldn't _all_ be out for blood.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to let me and my hound pass, would you?" she asked, keeping her voice as bright as she could.

"It'll cost you," said one of the men, his tone menacing.

_Shit,_ Marian thought. There was no way she was going to get out of this one. And there was no way she could take on _six armed men_ with just her two daggers. _Why_ hadn't she listened when Aveline and Varric told her how stupid it was to take walks around town at night? Why did she always have to be so damned _stubborn_?

She wasn't a coward, but she also wasn't an _idiot_. One woman against six men - not a fair fight no matter where you were from. She needed to distract them, then run.

"I don't have much coin on me," she said. "Fifty silvers, that's all. And you can have it." She fumbled with the leather pouch she kept tied at her belt, where she knew she had one of those weird smoking potions that the dwarves made, and tossed it at the leader. She heard the glass shatter on the ground and within seconds, the surrounding area was incased in a thick, putrid-smelling fog.

Marian held her breath so as not to inhale too much of it, remembering how Varric had said it caused disorientation and confusion. Her eyes were watering, and she could hear the sounds of the enraged men. She _had_ to get out of here before the fog's effects wore off, but the problem was, she couldn't remember which way she was supposed to be running.

Through the haze, she could see one of the figures lunging toward her. She reached for her daggers, prepared to at least go down swinging, but someone grabbed her shoulders roughly from behind. "_Inside, now,_" a voice growled in her ear as the assailant's hands pulled her backwards into a building and slammed the door shut behind them.

She jerked away from her unseen foe and reached for her daggers. One-on-one, she could handle.

"Hawke."

She whirled around to face her attacker then, daggers forgotten for one shocked moment.

"Fenris?"

The elf was standing there, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable. "Care to tell me what this is all about?"

Marian closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to clear the last remnants of the fog from her mind. "I couldn't sleep. It was too hot, too cramped in that shack, I needed some air. So I came for a walk. I don't know how I ended up in Hightown, I didn't set out … anyway. Those guys showed up, and I knew there was no way I was going to be able to get past them, so I used one of Varric's flasks. I guess I breathed too much in, because I got confused, and well …" She shrugged and trailed off. She was babbling now. It should be a simple thing, thanking him for his help, but the words were stuck in her throat for some reason.

His expression didn't change, but his eyes searched her face, as if he were assessing her for injury. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his tone the same it would be if he were inquiring about the weather.

"No, I'm fine," she said.

"You shouldn't be walking alone at night," he said, and though the words were those of a concerned friend, the way he said it felt cold. It made her bristle. Why even bother helping her if he'd just rather she be found dead in a ditch somewhere _anyway_?

"I know that," she said coolly, arching an eyebrow at him. "And I wasn't alone. My dog was with me. Though … I don't know where he got off to." At that exact moment, her mabari came bounding around the corner toward her. She knelt down "Oh, thank the Maker you're all right! What brought you here, though, huh, boy?"

"They say mabari are smarter than humans," Fenris said, shrugging, and heading off through the archway in the foyer.

Marian's jaw dropped at his insult, and she _hated _that he was getting the last word here, so she followed him. Her eyes widened a bit as she looked around at the place, still as dusty and cobwebby and downright _disgusting_ as the night he'd first moved in here. "Ooh, I _love _what you've done with the place," she muttered under her breath.

"No one's forcing you to stay," he said, not turning to look at her.

"Right, no one, except for the _very bad men_ right outside your door. And! For what it's worth … I didn't _ask you_ to drag me in here! I was handling the situation!"

She swore she heard him chuckle a bit at that. She made a face at the back of his head. It wasn't fair, the way he could just make her _so angry_ while he just stood there being Mr. Calm and Collected all the time. Honestly, it was _infuriating_. She stomped up the rest of the stairs, making sure to make _as much noise _as possible.

Yes, she was being petty, and she didn't really have a reason too, except that she thought it might annoy him enough to drop the stoic act.

He entered the study and crossed the room to stand near the fireplace. She paused in the doorway and looked around. Just as filthy as the rest of the manor. She didn't know why, but suddenly, she felt _bad _about it. He hadn't even _tried _to make it more livable.

Her eyes narrowed as she noticed some shards of glass on the floor against the far wall. There was a thick red puddle gathering there, and for a brief moment, she thought he'd hurt himself. Closer inspection, however, revealed the truth. She crossed the room, shaking her head. One of the shards of glass on the floor was larger than the rest, and bore part of a label.

"Agreggio …?" she read, brows knitting.

He glanced over at her, and his face fell. He was … dismayed. But at what? At himself? At her, for prying?

"Agreggio Pavali," he said tiredly. "There are six bottles of that in the cellar. Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests. Said my appearance intimidated them."

She regarded him, cocking her head to the side. Aside from the markings on his skin, and the seemingly permanent dour expression, there didn't seem to be anything terribly off-putting about Fenris's _appearance_. It was only when he talked that the real disagreeableness kicked in.

"I can't imagine why they'd be put off," she said. She hadn't really _meant _to say it, not like that. But she'd never really been much for the "thinking before speaking" thing that her mother was always on about.

Fenris's eyes shot to her face then and he looked at her, bewildered, for a moment. "I'll … take that as a compliment," he said finally, though his tone was unsure.

She shrugged and nudged the bits of broken glass with her toe. She sighed affectedly. "Well, what a waste," she said lightly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye, hoping to dispel some of the awkwardness that her last comment had left hanging in the air. "_Now_ what are you going to offer me to drink?"

"There's more if you're really interested," he told her.

She rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively. "Perish the thought. How else would you redecorate the walls?"

He laughed then, and it was loud and honestly amused, and unlike anything she'd ever heard from him - lovely, really, a lovely sound, and it transformed his face into something _else_. Something _real_. She blinked in disbelief and then smiled a bit to herself. It was _something_, at least.

He sighed heavily then, and gestured toward the mess at her feet. "I've wanted to leave my past behind. But it won't stay there. Tell me, have you ever wanted to return to Ferelden?" It startled her, this sudden confession, his sudden interest in _her_. They'd never really _talked_ before.

She walked over to the only chair in the room and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. After a moment, he sat down on one of the long wooden benches across from her, and regarded her as he waited for her answer.

"I've thought about it," she said honestly. "Of course I have. I grew up in Ferelden. It will always be my home."

"The Blight is over," Fenris said. "You could rebuild what you lost. Do you truly not want to?"

Marian shifted a bit, uncomfortable under his intense gaze. The truth was that she didn't know, not really . Her family was here now, that's all that mattered to her. "My family is _here_. My mother came from Kirkwall, all our heritage is here."

He seemed to think about that for a moment, and then nodded. "A place to put down roots," he said. "I understand. Still, to have the option, must be gratifying."

She leaned forward in her chair, overcome with an urge to know more about this man. She'd kept him at arm's length for _months_ now, because she'd thought him cantankerous and because she found his views on mages to be wholly abhorrent. But there was a sadness there, in the way he talked about her life, and the fact that she had _choices._ Almost as though … as though he'd never had any. And he seemed willing enough to talk to her now.

Maybe she could be the one to hear his story, after all.

"Have you been on the run for very long, Fenris?"

His eyes locked with hers then, and she suddenly felt lost. There was _such _sadness there, so much more than a man as young as he should have ever had to deal with. She fought off an urge to reach out and touch him … she wasn't sure why she even _wanted_ to, and she was also quite certain that that sort of gesture would not go over well.

"Three years now. Danarius has ways of finding me - perhaps it's the markings? Whatever the means, it never takes him long to follow. This is the first time I've given him reason to pause." He looked at her then, his mouth quirked upward slightly. "I suppose there are advantages in numbers."

"Haven't you ever sought help before?"

"Hirelings, when I could steal the coin. Never anyone of substance. Until you," he added quietly. "Danarius will not give up, however. I will await his return."

"What if he doesn't come looking for you, though? What will you do then?"

His answer was instantaneous, his expression firm. "Then I will go to him. I will not live with a wolf at my back."

She nodded, having expected no less from him. And she couldn't honestly say she wouldn't do the same, were she in his position. What must it be like, to constantly be looking over your shoulder. She understood, now, a little, why he constantly seemed to be on edge, always looking over his shoulder.

"Sounds like the right idea to me," she said.

"I doubt it will come to that," Fenris told her.

"Do you know where he is _now_?" she asked carefully, not wanting to anger him or cause him to shut down on her, not now, not when she was _finally _starting to understand him a bit.

"I imagine he's returned to Minrathous. I dare not enter the city while he still lives, though. It's better to wait until he leaves his fortress, attack from a fortified position." He seemed to be talking more to himself, then, and Marian didn't say anything. He looked at her, and shook his head a bit. "Don't worry. I do not expect your help when that day comes."

"Fenris …"

"Though I wouldn't turn it down." Their eyes met again, and this time, neither of them rushed to look away.

"Do you intend to stay here … in Kirkwall, I mean?" she asked after a moment.

"I haven't decided. For now, it's as good a place as any. I would return to Seheron if I could … but there is no life for me there."

Her brow furrowed at this new information. She didn't know why she had just assumed he was from Tevinter … just because he'd been a slave there … slaves have to come from somewhere, didn't they? "Seheron? Is that … that's where you're from?"

"So they tell me." It was a short answer, and the coldness was creeping back into his voice. She hated to hear that again.

"Were you very young when you left?"

"Perhaps."

She frowned. Didn't he remember? She was afraid to ask, though, afraid to undo anything good that might have come from this conversation. She finally felt like she was beginning to understand this man, and to appreciate why he was the way he was. She felt sorry for him, but it wasn't pity. He just seemed … so lost, so lonely, like he'd never really had a place. And she hadn't been exactly welcoming to him before.

She took a deep breath. "You know, you've been … a lot of help these past few months, Fenris. I know we didn't exactly get off on the right foot with each other, and some of that is my fault. I … I tend to judge too harshly. You've … proven yourself to be a worthy ally, and even Bethany says you're not _all_ bad, and she's the one who _should _be holding a grudge," she laughed lightly. "Just … if you're looking to start a life …" she trailed off when she felt his eyes on her again, and shifted nervously in her seat. "You could stay."

"I could see myself staying," he said, his voice quiet. "For the right reasons."

She looked toward the window then, and started when she saw that the sky outside had begun to lighten. How long had she been sitting here in his study, talking to him? It seemed only minutes had passed since he'd pulled her inside, away from the men on the street.

"I should … thank you," she said. "For your assistance earlier. It was stupid of me to get myself into such a situation, and if you hadn't been around … well. Just. Thank you."

"I'd say that makes us even, then," he replied, and she quirked an eyebrow at him. "I've been meaning to thank you again, for your help with the hunters. If I'd known Anso would find me a woman so capable, I might've asked him for help sooner."

His voice had taken on that formal, clipped tone again, and she couldn't help but grin at it. "You sound like you're about to ask me for a loan," she said jokingly.

"Well," he said, casting a disparaging eye around the room. "This mansion _does _require a lot of upkeep."

She laughed. "Oh, I can see that," she said, wrinkling her nose a bit. She cast another look out the window, and sighed inwardly. "I should … they'll worry if they wake up and find me gone, that's all. I … thank you, again. It was … well. Thank you."

His eyes flickered over to the window, and she could see that he was just as surprised as she had been to see dawn breaking. He stood up as she rose from her chair. "Will you be all right getting home?" he asked.

She smiled. "We'll be fine," she said, nodding her head in the dog's direction. She once again fought the urge to reach out and touch him. She needed to _stop that. _He might not be as vile as she previously thought, but there were still many things about him that she didn't know. He still thought mages were less than human, and when you came from her family, that mindset just … didn't sit well.

She headed for the door, mabari in tow. She had just reached the top of the staircase when he appeared in the doorway for the study. "Hawke," he said, and she turned around. "Perhaps I'll … practice my flattery, for your next visit? With any luck, I'll become better at it." And then, just as soon as he'd appeared in the doorway, he disappeared, back into the study.

Marian blinked. Was that … had he just …

_Oh,_ _Maker_.

She stood there, frozen on the stairwell for several minutes. She considered going back into the study and asking him to clarify … but no.

Some other time, perhaps.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So here's the second time where Hawke should maybe have said something more to a certain elf. But if she did _that_, then I would have no fic to write, so ... onward! XD Thanks to everyone who has reviewed this fic so far, it's really nice to know that people are enjoying this.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything here, I'm just playing in Bioware's sandbox.**

_**II.**_

It rained in Kirkwall the day they arrived home and found Bethany gone. The templars had come, Leandra had said, a mere _day_ before Marian had returned.

Those words filled her with anger - anger at the system, anger at Varric's stupid brother … mostly, though, anger at _herself_. She'd spent her _entire life_ trying to ensure that nobody would ever take Bethany away from them.

Fat lot of good she was, then. The _one time_ she turned her back, this happened. Perhaps it would've been better if she _had_ taken Bethany to the Deep Roads with them. She might've been able to keep her safe there.

She didn't cry, not when Leandra broke down sobbing in her arms, not when her mabari howled mournfully at the loss of another Hawke. When Varric showed up at Gamlen's house, his eyes full of sadness, and his voice cracking ever so slightly when he said he was sorry about "Sunshine" - she didn't cry then either, but her throat felt tight and dry, so she accepted his proffered invitation to have a pint.

It was still raining, and slogging through the mud that filled the Lowtown streets now meant that they were _beyond_ bedraggled when they walked into the pub. Marian didn't care, it matched her mood perfectly.

She was surprised to see Anders there, though he wasn't drinking. He seemed agitated, and he pretty much pounced on her the second she walked in with Varric. "I know some people, Hawke, we can get Bethany out of there …"

She raised her hand and sighed. "Can we just … not … right now?"

Anders' face clouded over. "You are wasting time!" he said sharply.

Marian whirled on him. "Look, I'm sorry this is hard for _you_, Anders. But the thing I've feared happening for the last _eighteen years of my life_ has just happened. Excuse me for needing a moment or two to process. And I'm not about to do something foolish that might jeopardize Bethany further while she's in there, do you understand that?"

Anders ducked his head, and Marian could tell that he was properly chagrined. Good. She was on his side about the mages, she _really _was. But she wasn't going to do anything that might end up making things worse for Bethany. There was just … no way.

"All right, all right, enough of that!" Isabela's bright voice cut in, shoving a tankard of something in Marian's face. "Drink up, Hawke."

Hawke brought the mug to her lips and took a drink, then frowned. "This is mead, Isabela."

"I _know_ that, you goose," Isabela told her, rolling her eyes. Then her features softened. "Bethany liked it. So we're all going to have one. Drink it for her, then you can have a proper big girl drink."

Marian opted to not ask when Bethany had been in here, drinking mead … in truth, she was sort of glad. Glad Bethany had had a few life experiences here in Kirkwall before …

Gah, what was _wrong _with her? Bethany wasn't _dead_, after all. She just wasn't … with _her_ any more.

Varric raised his own mug, and said, simply, "To Sunshine."

Marian smiled sadly. "To Bethany," she said, mostly to herself, and finished her mead in one long gulp. Isabela set another mug in front of her almost immediately. She eyed the pirate sideways. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Isabela?"

Isabela winked. "Always!" Marian started to say something else, but Isabela shushed her with a wave of her hand. "Ooh, speaking of people I'd like to get drunk …"

Marian followed Isabela's gaze to the door and felt her stomach flip a little when her eyes found Fenris standing there. "What is _he_ doing here, I thought he hated this place?"

Isabela's expression was both amused and bewildered when she looked back at her. "I think he's here more for the company than for the ambiance."

"What is that even supposed to _mean_?" Marian grumbled, taking another long drink of the ale Isabela had set before her.

From his seat beside her, she heard Anders huff irritably when Fenris approached them. She kicked him under the table and gave him a look that said "be nice".

The exchange wasn't lost on Fenris, who looked back and forth between her and Anders, his eyes narrowing ever-so-slightly.

For her own part, Marian was eyeing him without trying to appear obvious about it. His hair was wet, plastered against his face by the rain outside. She wanted to push some of it out of his eyes, it was _bothering _her, but she wasn't drunk enough to think that that would be a welcome gesture.

"Well, well," Isabela said, leaning forward on the table next to Marian and smiling winningly at Fenris. "What's the occasion, for you to come slumming it Lowtown with the likes of us?"

To his credit, Fenris only glanced at Isabela and all her assets briefly before turning his attention back to Marian, who by this point, had finished her second ale. "Your mother said you were here."

"And here I am!" Marian said, smiling a bit _too_ brightly at Varric when he set another tankard in front of her. "But what brings _you_ here … Oooh, I know! You've come to gloat! One more mage, off the streets of Kirkwall? Bethany _was_ awfully scary, wasn't she, Fenris? Entirely _too dangerous_ to be allowed to live free." She laughed bitterly, shaking her head, and taking a deep drink of her ale.

"What?" Fenris asked, his brow furrowed. "Hawke, I was …" He seemed to notice that everyone at their table (and a few people at the surrounding tables) was watching him intently, awaiting his answer. "You're drunk. This is … not the right time for this."

He sighed heavily, his hand going to his forehead in an action that Marian had come to interpret over these past months as his "I feel like an idiot" gesture. Somewhere beyond the ale-addled part of her brain, a voice was saying that maybe, just maybe, he really did _care_. But that sounded entirely too reasonable, and she was entirely too drunk for that right now.

Isabela snorted. "Wow, that's the first time I've ever heard a man say that." Marian giggled.

"This was a bad idea," Fenris said through clenched teeth. "Sorry to have bothered you. Perhaps we can talk, some other time." He turned then, and headed for the door.

Marian rolled her eyes and started to stand up, fully intent on giving him a piece of her mind. Anders grabbed her arm. "What are you _doing_, Hawke? Just let him go."

She shook her head. "No, no, I have to … I have to go talk to him. He's grumpy and if I don't, his face is gonna get stuck like that!" She pulled herself free from Anders and tripped over the leg of her chair, causing said chair to clatter to the floor loudly. "Shhh," she said to it, glaring.

"Isabela, you can't honestly think it's a good idea to let her go off like that," she heard Anders saying as she weaved her way unsteadily through the pub's patrons, toward the door. She didn't hear Isabela's answer, but she _did_ hear Varric's boisterous laugh afterward, so she probably didn't want to know anyway.

She flung open the door to the Hanged Man and stepped out into the nearly empty street. The rain was still pelting down, but it was okay, it felt nice and cool against her face. She saw Fenris, not very far from her, so she took off at what she passed as a run for her while she was intoxicated.

"Oy!" she shouted at him when she was near enough. "Fenris!"

He turned around, and squinted against the rain at her. "Hawke?"

"'Course it's me, who'd you expect?"

"Go back inside," he said wearily.

"Nope!" she said, shaking her head vehemently. "Not 'til you tell me what you came here to say."

"It doesn't matter now, you won't remember it come morning anyway."

"All the more reason to say it!" she said, smiling slightly, stepping nearer to him, close enough that he had to take a few steps back. She frowned. "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?" he asked, his voice uncertain.

"Any time I get too close, you back away. I know I'm no Isabela, but am I really that repulsive?"

She swore she heard him snort derisively. "I'd hardly count 'not being Isabela' as a point _against _you, Hawke," he said in a voice that was barely audible over the sound of the rain, and she blinked in surprise. He sighed heavily then. "I came to apologize. About Bethany. I know what happened to her was the last thing you wanted."

"But …?" she prompted, sure there was more to come.

"But … perhaps it's for the best. At least you know you - _she - _will be safe now."

Marian was sure her jaw couldn't have dropped any further than it did. _For the best? _she wanted to scream at him. She wanted to ask him how _he_, of all people, could possibly think it better to live life in chains - metaphorical or no - than to be free. How he could stand there and look her in the eyes and tell her that _everything_ that she and her mother and her brother and her father had done to keep Bethany _out_ of that wretched place had been for naught, because it was _better _that she was in the Circle now? _Safer? _It was _safer_ to live with the fear of being made Tranquil hanging over your head for the slightest misstep?

She wanted to slap him. How _dare _he? Just when she'd started to think that maybe, just maybe, there was something in him that might be worth her friendship, he'd gone and proved all her initial misgivings about him _right_, yet again.

She didn't do any of those things, though. Instead, she shook her head and turned to go back inside, suddenly feeling _far_ too sober and chilled from the rain. "Maker take you," she said through clenched teeth.

"Hawke," Fenris called after her. "_Marian._"

She stopped and looked up at the sky then, letting the rain hit her squarely in the face, and laughed sardonically. The first time he'd ever used her given name … it _would_ be now, wouldn't it? She stopped walking and turned slowly to face him.

He shook his head, and exhaled loudly. "Your loyalty to your family and the people you hold close … is one of the best things about you. But I don't want you dead. Not for any reason, not even if it's the best reason in the world. Dead isn't better. That's _all_."

And then he was gone, and Marian was watching him go, her brow furrowed and a frown pulling at her lips. She didn't even feel the rain any more.

_I don't want you dead_.

Did it mean anything, aside from the obvious? Did she _want_ it to?

He _should_ be everything she hated, everything she _didn't_ want. And she was still angry. Angry about what he'd said about Bethany, and his views on mages in general. They just … didn't agree on so many things, so many _important_ things, and yet … he _moved _her. She couldn't deny it. She was drawn to him, inexplicably. And it didn't make sense, and it scared her to death.

Fear had never stood in her way before … not for anything. If this was _anything_ else, she'd be chasing it even now, demanding an explanation, demanding that he talk to her, that he tell her everything.

But if she did that, then _she'd _have to tell _him_ everything. And she just … wasn't ready to do that, not yet. Maybe not ever.

So she watched him walk further away from her, and choked on the words that were forming in her throat. Words that told him everything, words that made him see that the two of them weren't so different after all.

Isabela came to drag her back inside not long after, and Marian managed to get through the rest of the night by reassuring herself that she probably wouldn't remember any of this the next morning anyhow.

And as far as any of her friends - and _especially_ Fenris - were concerned, she didn't.


End file.
